


The Tender Things That We Were Working On

by callmeri



Category: Breakfast Club (1985)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeri/pseuds/callmeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he opens the invitation, Brian can't decide whether John will insist on going, or adamantly refuse to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tender Things That We Were Working On

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kristiinthedark in the Yuletide 2008 challenge. The original version is posted [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1636538).

When he opens the invitation, Brian can't decide whether John will insist on going, or adamantly refuse to go.

He prepares for both eventualities by buying a new suit, and then hiding it in the back of the closet.

*

There are three people in the world who know exactly how John Bender managed to graduate high school. There's John himself, of course, and there's Brian, obviously, and then there's Carl, the janitor.

At the time, Brian hadn't spent much time wondering why Carl had been so keen to help them. Maybe Carl felt sorry for Bender, or maybe he was expecting some kind of payback, though he never asked for anything. Or maybe he just liked knowing that he was putting one over on Vernon. Whatever it was, Carl had always been there to unlock the doors, to run interference, to show them which lights in the library can't be seen from outside.

If he ever suspected there was more than just studying going on during those times, there was never a sign of it in his voice, never a hint of it in his ready smile.

*

He leaves the invitation on the kitchen table, where he knows John will find it as soon as he gets home. He makes sure he's in the living room watching TV when John comes in, and he listens, frozen in place, as John drops his coat on the chair, opens and closes the fridge. John's boots are loud on the kitchen tile as he makes his way over to the table, and then there's a silence, long and filled with a suspense that leaves Brian feeling lightheaded and breathless. He can easily picture the way John is holding the invitation in one hand and his beer in the other, can imagine the way his nostrils flare, the way his hair - still long, as thick and dark as ever, the bastard - falls into his eyes as he reads.

He counts to twenty before heading into the kitchen, figuring that's more than enough time for John to hide whatever he doesn't want Brian to see.

*

The first time they'd fucked -- after Bender had aced the algebra test that would guarantee a passing grade, thereby enabling him to graduate with the rest of the class -- Brian had been shocked at the number of bruises he'd found on Bender's skin. Some new and angry, others faded to almost nothing, they spanned the surface of his skin like a geological map: beige and purple, olive green and gold. Brian, who'd never been allowed to see a horror movie or even a film that was rated R, couldn't help wondering what that kind of blow does to you. What happens, deep beneath the skin where nobody can see.

They didn't say anything, that first time. Bender reached and Brian responded; Bender's jaw was rough and his eyes were hot and his hair was soft under Brian's fingers, and he shouted Brian's name when he came, his eyes squeezed closed like he was in pain.

Afterwards, as their breathing gradually returned to normal and the sweat cooled on their skin, Brian had taken a deep breath and reached out tentatively, mapping bruises with his fingers like building bridges or playing connect the dots, knowing that behind each one was a story Bender would never tell. He thought maybe he could listen anyway, though -- to the way Bender gasped slightly when Brian grazed over a red welt on his inner wrist, or the way he winced, just a tiny little bit, when Brian curled his hand over a fading pink scab on Bender's jaw. Throughout it all, Brian bit his lip, waiting for Bender to object, but instead Bender had remained oddly still, one arm tucked under his head, meeting Brian's gaze with a steady, challenging stare that eventually grew heated, until their moans broke the silence again.

He hadn't let himself think about what would happen after graduation. He had no delusions; he knew Bender couldn't wait to get the hell out, to get away from Vernon, away from his parents, away from Shermer. Brian wanted that for him. At the ceremony, nobody clapped harder than Brian when Bender scuffed up the steps to the podium (taking them two at a time, of course), snatched his diploma from Vernon with his right hand while simultaneously flipping him the bird with his left, and then jumped down onto the grass in front of the stage, heading off the field rather than back to his seat, ripping the robe off his shoulders and tossing his hat in the air as he went.

The rest of the senior class had shook their heads in amazement - that Bender, man, he's a total psycho - but Brian had just sat in his chair, tears in his eyes, grinning like a fool.

*

The information superhighway being what it is these days, Brian easily squirrels out what happened to the rest of them.

It's Allison - surprise, surprise - who had ended up becoming the most successful of them all. Art school directly after high school, and apparently she'd been right in the thick of things when computer graphics really took off. By the mid-90's she had settled in Silicon Valley, a string of hit video games already under her belt. There's a picture of her from an old article in PC Magazine: her hair is cut short and dyed blonde, she's wearing glasses and what looks like a man's business suit.

He learns that Andy's bum knee had finally given out on him during his sophomore year in college. Without the scholarship, he'd been forced to transfer to Illinois State and move back in with his father. Two years of that must have been all it took to wear him down, to wring the defiance right out of him, since rumor has it he works as a burglary alarm salesman in Northbrook now. Rumor also has it he drinks too much.

And Claire...

There's a profile of Claire on schoolmates.com. It looks like she'd gotten married, squeezed out a few puppies, and... well.

When Brian tells John about that, he expects a smug, knowing smile, an "I told you so." Instead, John just leans back in his chair, lights a cigarette, and says, "Now that's just sad."

*

On the one hand, Brian desperately wants to walk into that hotel ballroom with John by his side. He wants to watch their eyes collectively widen in shock when they see how John turned out, despite their predictions - and also when they realize that it was him, Brian Johnson, the dork who couldn't even make a lamp light up, who had seen what all of them had missed, years before. (He's not proud of that instinct, but it's there all the same.)

Most of all, though, he wants to show them that John Bender did, in fact, exist at that school -- and that when he disappeared, it did matter. Just, not nearly as much as it had mattered when he returned.

*

"So," he ventures, over dinner. "Do you want to go?"

John's face is unreadable, as always. Over the years Brian has learned certain things to look for, but he always feels vaguely guilty when he does that, so instead he focuses his attention on his plate and waits.

"I don't know." John shrugs. "Maybe."

In the silence that follows, Brian thinks about what it would be like, for John, to see them all again, face to face. He remembers the way each of them had looked at John back then, during that long, endless Saturday -- hungrily, as if making him care about their problems would validate them somehow. In his mind's eye, Brian imagines the three of them circling like vultures over John's head even now, just waiting for the chance to finally get their talons into his skin.

"You don't... we don't have to go together," Brian says hesitantly. "I mean, you could pretend we're not... it's fine. I'd understand."

John stares at him for a long moment. "You know, for a smart guy, you're really stupid sometimes, you know that?" Then, casually, he adds: "Maybe I want to show you off. Ever think of that, Einstein?"

Brian eyes him hopefully. "So then...we're going?"

"Guess you're gonna need a new suit," John says, grinning, and Brian laughs and laughs and laughs.


End file.
